Remembering Rian/Dad

Every day since the passing this summer of my father and colleague, Rian Fried, I’m reminded of something else about him that I miss.

First and foremost, Dad was a natural advice-giver (a nice trait to have in our business), and not shy about sharing his insights not just with family, but with the concentric circles of community he dwelt in. Dad doled out advice with certainty and humor, no matter the subject. I heard him many times offer financial, estate, and general money advice to clients and friends with a confidence and intelligence in his voice that put the most worried mind at ease. He also gave great advice on other matters, from how to buy a car to what to do about a woodpecker pecking our house every morning to the best way to remove leaves from brussels sprouts. He never lacked an opinion, and after I stopped rolling my eyes, I came to appreciate how useful those opinions were. So did countless clients, friends, and colleagues.

Among Dad’s talents was editing. In fact, writing again for the first time since he died, I admit to feeling a bit unmoored knowing that his insightful and occasionally scathing edits won’t arrive in my inbox tomorrow. It’s the rare parent who is thrilled when you marry an English major, but Dad was master of the written and spoken word and always hoped I would have that same appreciation. He edited more school papers than I care to admit, as well as college and law school admissions essays and every article I’ve written for The Clean Yield newsletter. And as was his way with everything in life, he called it as he saw it. 

I also miss hearing Dad go on passionately about investing in Vermont, particularly in sustainable agriculture. I watched him at work my whole life as he handled the many ups and downs of the market, as well as new projects and changes within Clean Yield, but I never saw him as excited and invigorated as when he got involved with Hardwick’s food and agriculture scene and all of the other Vermont food ventures that followed. He devoted hundreds of work and personal hours to learning about these new businesses, meeting and advising folks around the state on how to attract social investors, talking with lawyers and accountants about how these types of projects could best be structured, and finally introducing and explaining the most worthy opportunities to clients. He would also talk about these businesses and all of their potential at dinner, on car trips, and whenever else possible. I’ll admit to getting sick of hearing about Vermont at times, but he had such passion for composting, seeds, locally made liquor, and meats that it was hard not to get excited myself.

Dad’s dedication to his family, friends, clients, and others in his community will always inspire me. As most people who talked to him quickly learned, Dad was the eldest of six brothers in a close-knit family. He and his brothers spoke almost every week, despite being separated by thousands of miles in some cases. I took these close relationships with my extended family for granted as a child but later learned that it was a rare and special bond, one that took effort and cultivation—things Dad was always willing to give. (This was usually a wonderful thing. My friends were treated as daughters, an embrace that could become became a bit embarrassing when Dad would tease a friend or get extra chummy with a new boyfriend.) Sensing this dedication, new friends and clients quickly became close to him. It never failed to amaze me that when we would go to meetings anywhere in Vermont, at least a few people would embrace him as an old pal. After seeing what a difference it has made to the whole community, I hope to be able to continue his dedication and loyalty to others in my own life.

In writing this, I find my thoughts about my father are as jumbled as how I refer to him. Half the time, he is “Dad”; the other half, he is “Rian.” Most of the time, he was Dad at home and Rian at work, to keep things more professional, but our lives inside and outside the office were so intertwined that it was impossible to keep them separate. We would talk about Clean Yield business during the most personal family moments and trade recipes and funny family anecdotes during the most serious of business moments.

Our relationship grew so much during my years at Clean Yield. Not only because I finally figured out what my dad did for a living or because of our daily catch-up calls on all things business and family, but because I learned how much we thought alike and completely trusted each other.

I will always be grateful for the confidence that my father had in me, and I’m thankful to have spent the past seven years working side by side with him.